Shop
by ItTicklesLikeCrazy
Summary: A dinky weapons shop? This is where the guy Bobby told us to come to lives? Well, let's get this over with. And we walked it, to find a man in his thirties with the most astounding sea green eyes quarreling with another man about how a knife is not for sale in a weapons shop. And it's only one little bronze knife, nothing special. Or so we thought.


**I swear, this is like the saddest fic I've ever written, well, at least to me. I can't handle it! **

**I don't own any PJO or SPN stuff.**

"Not for sale," Percy intoned, staring down the man in front of him with a stubborn expression on his face.

"I thought you were supposed to sell guns and knives here," the man protested, appreciatively glancing at the knife Percy clutched again.

"Please buy something or get out of my shop," Percy requested, setting the knife on a special shelf below the register and eyeing the man suspiciously.

"I'm trying!" the man exclaimed. "But the only object of my interest is that knife. Name your price, I can go very high."

"Not for sale," Percy repeated, gritting his teeth together. "Please select something else or get out."

"If it's not for sale, then why is it here?" the man wondered, raising an eyebrow. "A hunting shop, which sells weapons, and a simple bronze knife isn't for sale? There are much more valuable and one-of-a-kind objects to horde besides that knife. I could offer a high price too, eight hundred dollars, even. Just let-"

"No!" Percy roared, then took in a huge breath through his nose. "Please get out."

"But-" the man protested.

Percy's sea green eyes flashed dangerously. "Now," he demanded, glaring at the man.

The man paled with fear and nodded, hurrying out of the shop. A few common customers who had been in the shop before chuckled, knowing exactly what the man had asked for, and knowing that eventually the man would get over his fear and come back, but never so much as glance at the knife again.

"Well," a voice broke the silence, belonging to the next man at the register. "That's one way to spread the word."

Percy glanced the man up and down, taking in his appearance, as well as the appearance of his two friends. "How can I help you?" he wondered, his eyes drifting to the leftmost fellow. "I'm afraid I have a bit of a grudge against angels, even those who aren't all holy with heaven."

"Percy Jackson?" The center man inquired. Percy inclined is chin in a silent 'yes'.

"Sam, Dean, and Castiel, right?" Percy wondered. At the affirmative nod, Percy grinned slightly. "Bobby called ahead. Said you were hunting something in my area of expertise. Are you going to buy anything, or just ask questions?"

The tall man, who Percy presumed as Sam, set a silver dagger down on the counter, as well as two pistols. Percy hummed in appreciation at the taste, and them actually paying for something, and counted up the cost in his head. "Currency?" he wondered, raising an eyebrow at the three men.

"Normal American," the man who Percy guessed was Dean supplied.

"Good," Percy murmured. "It's around sixty two bucks, but I'll let you get off with rounding down to sixty flat."

Dean slapped down a handful of bills on the counter and Percy counter them up before sliding them into the cash drawer. "Come on back," Percy finally offered, lifting a portion of the counter up and allowing the three men into the back. "Hey, Roslyn!" he called. "Handle the counter for a while."

A girl with curly brown hair restrained in a messy bun slipped out from where she was helping a burly biker man choose between two knives and stood behind the register. "Kay," she agreed.

"If anybody asks for me exclusively, have them wait, okay?" Percy ordered. "I don't want you eavesdropping either." Roslyn's cheeks turned a dulled pink color and Percy nodded at her, with an expression like 'yeah, I know what you get up to'. "Come on," he instructed the three men, and opened a door behind the register.

All three men followed Percy down a brief staircase and to an inventory room, which was stocked full with weapons of all sorts, as well as other odds and ends and strange trinkets, and barrels of salt and holy water and a massive first aid kit.

A table with four chairs sat in the center of the room, and Percy took a seat in one of the chairs, motioning for the others to sit as well. All three did, knowing that Percy might take it as a threatening gesture if they chose to remain standing. Sam glanced around the room as he sat, observing a bed in one corner of the room, and a steel table in another. Both had restraining straps on them, but the corner the steel table was in seemed to have stains from liquid Sam could only guess at. Sam didn't want to guess as much, so instead focused his attention back to Percy.

Percy set five objects on the table. Two were knifes, one a bronze color, the other pure silver. The other three objects were easily recognized, one a flask of holy water, another a cup of salt, and the third an iron coin.

Without a word, Percy picked up the first knife, the silver one, and cut himself with it, showing bright red blood. One tanned finger dipped itself in the salt, scooping up a fair amount, and stuck it in his mouth, which was quickly washed away by a swig of hoy water. Percy fiddled with the iron coin before handing it to Dean, who took it and set in on the bare skin of his forearm, then handing the coin to Sam, who did the same as Dean.

Dean took a drink of holy water and a bit of salt, and then passed both objects on to Sam, who followed in suit, and slid the silver knife across his bare forearm skin, where the coin had sat. Sam took the knife from him and mimicked Dean's motions again, while Cas watched the exchange with dull fascination.

"We're all us," Dean finally concluded, when Sam set the silver knife on the table.

"Good," Percy said. "I'm not so much in the killing mood today. Now, what does Bobby think is so in my ballpark?"

"What do you know about Cetea?" Sam questioned.

Percy let loose a low whistle. "I retract my sarcasm," he murmured. "Bobby was right. This is my game, if you are dealing with one of them. Question, what makes you think you're dealing with one?"

Sam slapped a folio down on the counter, looking back up to the boy. "Six different girls with no connection besides all being female and living in the same town have disappeared from an area a couple towns over, a port town. What can you tell us about Cetea?"

"Well," Percy began, spreading his hands on the table. "Cetea usually snatch girls, fourteen to nineteen years old, because in ancient times, that was their prime age. Some Cetea have to have their pray sacrificed to them, some can just take what they want."

"And what would show that a girl was sacrificed to the Cetea?" Sam wondered.

Percy shrugged unhelpfully. "Some have defining marks, like birth marks or placed they've been burned with a particular pattern, like branding. Some wear some particular plant, like olive leaves, for when Poseidon was taking followers of Athena, since Athena created the olive tree."

"Would there be any reason for the Cetea victims to have strange markings on their wrists?" Dean pushed. "A friend of one of the victims commented on her having gained a mysterious tattoo in black ink all around her wrist, like a bracelet."

Percy shrugged again. "Princess Andromeda was chained to a rock by her wrists and ankles and left for the Cetea because her Mom boasted that Andromeda was far more beautiful than the sea nymphs. As far as I can tell, the sea nymphs are way more beautiful, so I can see how this would offend them, but sacrificing a girl to them, really? Grecian citizens were so stupid back then."

"What about the great heros?" Sam asked. "Like Hercules?"

"First of all," Percy wheeled on him, holding up a finger. "Hercules is a dick. I don't know if he was a major hero back in the day, but he was turned into a major douche bag somewhere between then and the present day, or maybe he always was. And second," he held up another finger. "All those great heros were demigods, and most of them were tools of the gods. 'Wind them up and watch them go', so they say. But, sooner or later, every great hero gets an end. For those who don't die a horrible death, they watch their loved one's flesh melt off her bones as she screams in agony…" Percy's eyes went glassy as he reached out an stroked the bronze knife he'd placed on the table.

Sam and Dean looked at each other for a moment, conferring with Castiel, who they'd nearly forgotten was there, and then turned back silently, to which Percy had snapped out of his reverie. The corners of his eyes seemed to hold moisture, but maybe it was just a trick of the light.

It was silent for a long time, as they all sat there awkwardly, then Dean breached the silence. "What was her name?"

"Annabeth," Percy responded, and even though it was only onward answer, it held so much emotion it made all three other people in the room want to stretch away from it. "We survived everything together. Tartaurus, angry gods, all kinds of monsters, all sorts of dangerous quests, but then, on a routine quest, she persuaded me to leave her and go dispatch a group of telkhines, trying to get me away from her, but I killed them too quickly, and I came back just in time to see her flesh melt off her flesh. It was only then I realized she purposely kept the prophesy from me, because she sacrificed herself for me, because I was supposed to be there instead of her, and she sent me away so I didn't have to see her die." Percy's voice choked up, and he stopped talking, his shoulders moving up, tense.

There was a long moment of quiet, and then, surprisingly, Castiel spoke. "I'm sure she's in heaven."

Percy barked a loud laugh in reply to this, though it help bitterness. "Ha! Demigods go to Hades! She's in the fields of Elysium, waiting for me, or reborn already, up here with the rest of us, maybe trying to find me. It doesn't matter, her subconscious may want to see me, but I won't know it's Annabeth, and even so, she would be too young." Percy heaved a sigh, and let his head droop. "I was going to propose to her after that quest, finally secure enough to suspect that I wasn't going to die and leave her all alone. I didn't know it was going to be the other way."

Everybody was silent again, but after a while, Sam and Dean stretched their arms out to castle, and gripped his shoulders, ready to teleport away, when Percy spoke. "Wait," he interjected. "You'll need this." He pushed the bronze knife across the table to the group of hunters. "Don't loose it," he demanded with a powerful voice. "It's important. It killed the Titan Kronos. And more importantly, it was hers."

With the sound of flapping wings, Sam, Dean, and Castiel were gone, and so was the knife. Percy heaved a sigh, and slowly stood up to go take his position back from Roslyn.

**I hope you liked it, even though it was sad. Me, being a huge Percabeth shipper, was astounded I wrote this. Hmm...**


End file.
